__full__ — Spanish Diosa!

"Why do you disturb my winter, little flame?" she asked, her voice the rustle of dead leaves and the gurgle of a subterranean river.

She was not huge, nor terrible in a monstrous way. She was the size of a mortal woman, but the air around her sweated with power. In her right hand, she held a hammer to crack open skulls. In her left, a pomegranate, its seeds glistening like drops of blood.

He returned to his village and told the story. He told it as the rains washed the land, as the acorns swelled, as the pigs grew fat. He told it until he was an old man, and then he taught his children.